Clarissa curled up under her sheets and blinked into the darkness. The bed was new to her. The room was new to her. Her foster mother had tucked her in and kissed her goodnight. But twelve year old Clarissa's eyes were glued to the object on her nightstand. Silhouetted as it was by the orange streetlight coming in from the window across the room. The only thing she bothered to take with her from the house on Walker Drive: The black puzzle box. She blinked into the dark again as she waited, her soul full of dread, for it to slide open. Because, as the creature reminded her last time, "The bargain has yet to be completed."

Clarissa was not a well adjusted child. Her father, Randal Simpkins, was a raging alcoholic. Spending what money he earned as a construction worker mostly on booze. Clarissa's sister Agatha had left home at eighteen. Clarissa herself couldn't wait to do the same. She tried to keep the house clean and do the shopping as well as keep up with her school work. Things had gone downhill since her mother died. She had been in a car accident and fell into a coma. She remained there for three months until she died. That was when her father had began drinking even heavier. He was not a pleasant drunk. Each night he would invade her room and beat her almost without mercy and leave. Then come back an hour or so later, just as drunk, begging forgiveness which Clarissa never gave. Not in her heart. She hated her father with as much passion as she hated her life and she never stopped dreaming of the day she could escape.

Clarissa pulled her red and white stripped stockings up and began choosing a skirt from her drawer. The clock read eight fifteen and it was a twenty minute walk from her house on Walker Drive to P.S. 168. She zipped her skirt up and looked at herself in the full length mirror beside her bed. Clarissa always dressed in black and had her bright blonde hair in pigtails. It was almost an electric blonde color which she had inherited from her mother. Clarissa wore heavy black eye liner which made her look almost Egyptian. Aside from that, she marred her face with little else save dark purple eye shadow and a small amount of clear lip gloss which gave her mouth a distinctive sheen. Her skin was pale and she was thin. Mostly because she didn't eat very much. Depression didn't make her hungry. Clarissa pulled her sleeve down a little bit and slipped into her hightops. Grabbing her bag from the doorknob, she went downstairs.

"If I hurry I won't have to see him and I won't have to say good-bye." She thought as she rushed down the stairs. But her father was crossing the front hall just as she came down. He looked up at her.
"Hello Elvira." He quipped. He meant it jokingly but Clarissa always took offense.
"Yea Hi." She said quickly. She meant to go right past him and out the door. "I'm leaving now." Randal caught her arm as she approached. Even at this time of the morning he stank of liquor. He had on his dirty work boots, a shirt and jeans.
"Not going to say good-bye?" Clarissa rolled her eyes and quietly huffed. Randal put a squeeze on her arm. "Don't you sigh at me! Now say good-bye." Clarissa winced under her father's grip.
"Good-bye." She said clenching her teeth. Randal let her go.
"Better. Now skedaddle." She opened the door and left as fast as she could. As it closed behind her she turned to face it.
"Fucking asshole." She said and started down the block.

Clarissa sat listlessly in class absently doodling into her notebook. She was a very good artist. Old sketch books filled with drawings were littered about her room like dandelions in a field. In front of the class her English teacher went on about some book she could care less about. Clarissa just drew. On the page was a cube made of what looked like stone and through it, diagonally, ran two bars. Later she would muse about how it looked almost like the puzzle box. But that had not yet entered her life. For now she was daydreaming. Suddenly a tug on her right pigtail rented her from her thoughts. She glanced back over her shoulder and a note was passed to her. She unfolded it into her palm. It read, in childish handwriting, "Hey Queen of the dead! Where's your zombie followers? Ha ha ha!" She looked back. Behind her she could see Andy Rimmler chuckling. His horse teeth, wrapped in braces, were bearly contained behind his thin lips. She shot him a nasty look with her piercing dark black eyes and wrote in her own neat, lilting script "Go fuck yourself you jackass!" She passed it back to him and returned to her drawing.

After class she gathered her things into her arms. Holding her books to her chest she walked from the room quickly. The hallways of P.S. 168 were densely packed with children. It was like the line of cows into a slaughterhouse or salmon going upstream. Clarissa however was clearly visible. The other children were chattering excitedly and dressed in bright colors with various logos emblazoned on their chests. Clarissa however was garbed only in black with the only other colors being her striped stockings and lime green hightops. Around her neck clattered simple pendants of silver in various gothic shapes like pentacles or coffins. Her ears were pierced three times each and had studs in them with stones of various colors. She walked slowly with a slouch and, as opposed to other children whose well tanned faces were festooned with bright and cheery expressions, Clarissa's pale countenance wore a woeful frown and downcast eyes. It was easy to see Clarissa through the crowd yet no one ever did. To the world, this cheery, bright, happy and shallow world of M T.V. and rock music and dating, Clarissa was an outcast; "Clarissa the depressed" was invisible. And she walked slow and somber in her veil of sadness and invisibility and no one even gave her a second glance. No, not Clarissa. To them she had nothing to offer. She wasn't like they were and so she was not seen; passed over and out of sight.

In the main hall Clarissa was suddenly confronted by a woman in a blue business suit. Her hair was done up in a bun and she wore black glasses. Her nose was sharply pointed. The woman smiled at Clarissa who jolted to a stop just before knocking into her.
"Hello Clarissa. How are you?" Clarissa looked up at her.
"Hi. Fine I guess." She pronounced. The woman was her guidance counselor Mrs. Dalman.
"You guess?" Dalman asked with a musical tone to her voice.
"Yea I guess. What's up?"
"I just wanted to check on you. How's your dad?" Clarissa tightened her clasp on her books at the word.
"He's...good."
"Well I'm concerned about you Clarissa. You seem very depressed and from what I can see here" Dalman produced a manila file from behind her back. "It seems that your grades are slipping."
"Yea. I know. I'm sorry Mrs. Dalman. I'll try harder."
"I hope you do. I know how painful it can be to loose someone like your mother. She was a very sweet woman. I hope you know that." Clarissa's expression brightened a shade as Dalman spoke. Her mother was one of the only happy memories she still carried with her.
"Yea I do. Well, I have to get to class."
"O.K. Then. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be coming by your house tomorrow to check up on you."
"Coming by the house?" Clarissa was surprised. "Oh no. No don't do that Mrs. Dalman." She said quickly. "You don't have to do that. Really you don't."
"Why? Is there something wrong?"
"No. Nothing's wrong. It's just...My dad. He doesn't like people over the house. Unexpectedly that is."
"Well I'll give him a call then and let him know." Clarissa went into panic mode. Mrs. Dalman had to be stopped.
"Um no. Don't do that either. Our phone...it....got canceled. We made a late payment. It wont be on until the first of next month. We just put the check in the mail. It's not that we're poor or anything 'cause we're not. We just, like, forgot you know?" The words tumbled from her mouth. Dalman gave her a disapproving look.
"All right Clarissa. I'll take your word for it. You'd better get to class. Have a good day."
"Yea. O.K. Bye!" Clarissa quickly walked down the hall as the late bell rang. The crisis has passed and she breathed a sigh of relief. All was safe for now.

The park was the highlight of Clarissa's walk home. Midfield Park was large and it's wooded hills were full of small back trails. Each day Clarissa cut through the park. She let herself wander among the trails; sometimes sitting on a stump or cross-legged on the rich fragrant earth to read or draw. She loved to look at the flowers and trees. She felt happy and at peace there. It was there she could be alone. Sequestered from the noisy and painful world she knew too well, she could loose herself in the surroundings. Today she was hiking a path she had not been down before. Around her were the scents of nature: The damp smell of rotting logs. The fragrance of wet fallen leaves. The perfume of the wild flowers. The chlorophyll of the bushes. Clarissa looked around her and smiled. As she walked she listened to the birds and glanced upward into the trees. The shafts of light coming through them was spectacular. She had to stop and draw it.

She began to sit down, her eyes still glued to the tableau above her. As she placed her hand on the earth, wet with late spring rain, she felt something sharp jab at her palm. She looked down. Something stuck up from the ground. It looked like the corner of a box. Clarissa was puzzled. Quickly she dug around it. More of the object became visible. Hunching over, she dug the thing out of the earth. When she was finished she dusted off her prize. It was a black box inlayed with ornate brass frames on each face. She turned it over in her thin hands. "I wonder what this thing is." She said to herself. "It looks really old. It looks kinda like a Rubix cube or something." Clarissa shrugged her shoulders. "Eh, whatever. It's fancy. I'll keep it." She stuffed the box into her purse and sat down to draw. When she was done she stood up and went back down the trail toward her house.

Coming in the door Clarissa could hear the roar of a wrestling match on television.
"I'm home!" She shouted.
"Yea yea!" Came the slightly slurred reply from the living room on her right. Quickly she went up the stairs and into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She plopped her bag on the floor and threw herself onto the bed. She was exhausted. She never slept very well and was up half the night most times. She stared listlessly at the ceiling. She pulled up her sleeves and passed her soft fingertips over the red scars along her arms that she had carefully put there night after night with the aide of a sharp pair of scissors. She was bored now that she was at home. It was five according to her bedside clock and at seven, since it was Tuesday, Randal's poker buddies would arrive. They left at one or two.

Usually Randal was steaming drunk by then and ready to give her a thrashing. In the past, he used to take out his frustrations on Agatha. Clarissa had heard, more than once, the sounds that issued from her sister's bedroom when her father was in there. Low moaning and grunting and choked sobs. She could only imagine her father's alcohol fumed breath pressing in on her poor sister. His ruddy pockmarked complexion and unshaved jowls scraping against her tear stained cheeks. His heavy hairy arms holding her down as he forced himself on her. His rough hands pawing at her body and running through her wavy auburn hair. His sweat on her skin. Clarissa remembered but didn't want to. Now, looking for something to occupy her mind, she got up and reached into her bag.

She passed the box from hand to hand and rolled it on the bed as she lay next to it on her stomach. "I wonder what it does." She said. Clarissa held it to her ear and shook. There was nothing inside. It didn't sound hollow. She ran her thumbs over the top. To her surprise, the side shifted ever so slightly. She added more pressure and it moved a little and then stopped. She tried the other faces of the cube and they responded in kind. "Oh, so it's a puzzle. A puzzle box. How cool." Clarissa sat up and began working on the box. Testing all the sides. Slowly she began to solve it. At seven the front door opened and voices began to speak but Clarissa paid them no mind. She was busy with the box. Hours passed and soon the door opened again and footsteps headed out into the night. Clarissa was closer than ever now to finishing the puzzle.

Finally she rotated the circle on the top face. A star shaped section began to slide out and up. Giving the protruding section a final turn, Clarissa slid it back down. With a loud click it fell into place. "All right!" She said. "Cool!" Suddenly the wall in front of her bed began to glow. The light coming from it was bright white. An icy wind began to come from the portal that was opening in her wall. It carried with it the stench of rust and blood and rotting flesh. Clarissa slid backwards on the sheets, drawing her legs up to her chest for protection. "What the fuck?" She whispered astonished. Slowly and with a faint sound of bells and the tinkling of chains, a silhouette began to step forward into her room. When it came into view the creature standing before Clarissa was more horrible than she could have ever imagined.

The creature breathed heavily and his chest heaved. Its face was full of boils, sores, infected cuts and open gashes. The pustules throbbed and pulsated and oozed slime and pus which dripped into its eyes and down its neck and chin. Its head was bald and it's eyes were little more than black discs set into the mass of boils which covered the head. It had no nose that she could see. It had a high collar on its black leather outfit which seemed sewed into the skin and affixed with needles. The creature's arms were long and it had bony fingers with pointed yellow nails. Across its lithe gray body were all manner of open wounds and bright red scars. All down its arms and thighs were long spikes which seemed rusted and stained with blood. Through its neck were two iron bars and the front of the throat was torn open and held back with wires which were attached to the back of its neck. Its mouth was filled with blunt gray teeth and coming down from its shoulders was a leather cape decorated with hooked chains and mottled pieces of skin sewn like patchwork into the leather.

The horrible thing leered at her from the foot of the bed. Clarissa shivered as she looked it over. The thing seemed to be looking her over as well and it grinned sinisterly at her, bearing its gray choppers. "Oh my God." She whispered.
"Not exactly." The creature said. Its voice was deep and sounded like razors going through flesh. Its thick purple tongue lashed around its mouth as it spoke.
"What the hell are you?" Clarissa asked.
"I am one of the many. I am a seeker of experience. An explorer of sensations. A member of the Order of the Gash; the Cenobites. However, you may call me Mr. Blister."
"How did you get here?"
"The box, my sweet. You opened it. I came."
"I don't understand." Clarissa said huddling farther away from the thing.
"It is a means to summon us my child. A gateway. A key." The creature chuckled and took a few steps towards her. "You have called me here."
"No I didn't"
"Oh yes you did. It is from need that we are called. From desire. There is something you desire and I can show it to you. All you need is to come with me. I can show you so many things. Teach you so many things. Let you feel so much. Sensations beyond imagining. Where pain and pleasure walk hand in hand. Where suffering and joy stand indivisible side by side. A realm of unbridled agony." Blister held out a hand to her. "Come with me child."

"No!" She shouted. "I don't want to go."
"I'm not giving you a choice." It grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her off the bed. She twisted and thrashed under his grip but it was no use. "No one escapes us and we must take someone back with us. It is the only way. I will enjoy carving your sweet young flesh and twisting your bones." The cenobite began to drag her towards the light. She braced herself on the floor with her heels but couldn't stop him.
"No! Wait!"
"For what?" Blister asked turning his putrid face toward her.
"Don't take me! Take someone else." Blister stopped. He let her go.
"Whom?"
"My father! Take him. I hate that fucking prick. Let him suffer if you want someone to feel pain. Let it be him. Cut his flesh. Twist his bones. Do it to him not to me." The creature seemed to ponder her words.
"Hmmm. You offer another soul in your stead. But I want yours my dear. Only your soul will do I think." He made a move towards her and she jumped back.
"O.K. Wait a second."
"Yes?" Blister said. He seemed to be growing impatient.
"If you kill my father then I'll come with you." Blister cocked his head and seemed to think over what she had said.

"Your proposal seems fair enough. Very well child. After your father is gone, you promise to come with me?"
"Yes yes. Anything. Just kill him. Take him."
"Good. Then it will be done." Blister turned towards the door. It opened as he approached. "Stay here. It will not take long." He headed down the stairs; his feet clomping heavily. From below Clarissa could hear her father bellowing.
"Clarissaaaa! Where the fuck are you, you little bitch? Huh? Where the fuck have you got to? Come out and get what's coming to you, you little smart mouth bitch!" Clarissa began to smirk. She sat back down on the bed and curled her arms around her against the cold.
"Yea, go ahead and yell you big shit. I got a surprise for you, asshole, and he's coming downstairs. Time for you to get what's yours you cock sucking fuckhead!"

Randal stumbled through the dining room. The lights were off. He fumbled along the wall for the light switch. He could hear footsteps coming down the stairs.
"That you Clarissa?" He asked. "Come in here you little shit." A tall figure stepped into the archway separating the dining room from the main hall. Randal flicked on the light. Blister was illuminated before him. Randal's eyes went wide at the site.
"Holy fuck I must be dreaming."
"No, you are not, Randal. I am very very real." Blister hissed. Randal squinted at the black clad figure.
"Who the fuck are you buddy?"
"Who I am is unimportant. It's what I am. I am your destiny. Your oblivion. A demon from a realm beyond what your feeble little mind can conjure up and you are about to become my next project. My newest work of art. Your flesh will be my pleasure." Blister stepped forward.
"Yea? Well you look horrible." Randal slurred as he swayed side to side.
"Not half as bad as you're about to my friend." Blister thrust his arms forward. From his cape the hooked chains shot out and wrapped themselves around Randal's wrists.
"What the hell?" He said.
"Holy crap." A voice whispered behind Mr. Blister. The cenobite turned around. Standing in the archway was Clarissa.
"This is not for your eyes." Blister shouted. With a gesture of his hand Clarissa felt herself flung backward. Rapidly she flew up the stairs, into her room, and on her bed. The door slammed closed. Quickly she got up and tried to open the door but it was stuck. She pulled as hard as she could. "Shit!" She exclaimed and gave the door a quick kick.

"Now we can begin. Any last words?" Blister asked with a sinister smile. Randal just screamed. "Ahhh" He sighed. "That's what they all say!" Blister made a fist with both hands and from between his fingers appeared long serrated spikes. The Nails of Agony he called them. They were his own special touch. He used them to torture and crucify his hapless victims. He could call as many of them as he liked and they were going to get quite a workout today. Blister flung his hands at Randal and the spikes slid through the air and drove themselves into his flesh. Randal screamed in pain. "Oh my God!"
"I'm afraid God can't hear you now. Although I doubt he really cares." Blister said. He flung more nails into Randal's arms and chest. The chains gathered themselves back into Blister's cape. With another toss of his hand Blister shot one nail through each of Randal's palms. The force blew him back against the wall, crucifying him into the wood. Randal's screeching grew louder. Blister tossed the nails with gleeful abandon and watched as they burrowed into his victim's legs, chest, and face. The chains reappeared and their hooks carved Randal's scalp off and peeled it in four different directions. With an expert touch, Blister threw some nails deep into Randal's skull. He directed the hooks to peel the corners of Randal's eyes open and the edges of his mouth. Digging furrows across his cheeks and lips and Blister tossed a few nails into his tongue until his mouth was filled with them. They pierced even his teeth and jawbone and came out the other side making Randal's face a mass of blood coated spikes.

With each wail Blister grew more full of pleasure. With each slice and puncture he tingled with joy. He threw the nails more and more until they covered almost every part of Randal's body. He looked now like hell's own version of a porcupine. The hooked chains scraped and gouged deep furrows in the spaces between the nails. His screams had died down now to low moans and whimpers. With another gesture Blister threw two nails, one into each eye. Randal's body was soaked with blood. "Well now I think you've had all the pity you're going to get. Time to finish the job." Blister said. Quickly, two hooked chains flashed across Randal's throat, tearing it open. Blister flung four more spikes into the open wound. Randal gurgled and choked on his own blood but by now he was fading. Another pair of chains whipped across his abdomen and his entrails poured out onto the hardwood floor with a sickening wet plop. Several handfuls of nails flew into the bloody cascade. Suddenly two bright knives, looking like huge curved cleavers with spikes, appeared in Blister's hands. Stepping close to Randal he brought the knives over his head.

With one swift motion he sliced Randal down the center of his body; right from his hairline to his groin. Blister split him like a chicken. The nails in his palms fell out and the two halves of what had once been Randal Simpkins collapsed onto the floor in a burst of blood, brains, and bone. The choppers disappeared and Blister smiled to himself and hissed in a quick breath. Bending over the body, he dipped his hands into the hot and lumpy puree of organs. Blister spread it like war paint over his chest and lower arms. Then, in a final gesture, he took a lump of brains and intestines and wiped the mess over his boil infested face. Sticking his slimy purple tongue out he licked a trifle of it off his fetid pus coated lips and smiled A job well done. Blister gestured over the body and it, along with the nails, disappeared into thin air. Back to hell for later viewing, should Blister so choose it. The room was clean now with not a trace of what had just gone on. Save for the acrid smell of blood in the air. Blister turned towards the stairs and started up them. It was time to collect his payment.

Clarissa sat on the bed. The screams she had heard from downstairs terrified her. She could only imagine what horrible things were happening to her father. But it was what he deserved. Her revenge and Agatha's too although she would never know it. She was happy her father had been tortured and killed but now the screams had stopped and footsteps were coming up the stairs. It could only be Mr. Blister and she was certain he was coming for her this time. As the door swung open, she sprang up and grabbed the puzzle box off the floor.
"Time to keep your promise my dear." Blister said in his deep voice which sounded like he spoke through a mouthful of blood. He stepped towards her.
"What's that?" Clarissa said pointing to the blood on Blister's arms and chest.
"It is all that is left of your father."
"What did you do with the body?" She asked to stall for time. Behind her back her fingers worked frantically over the box. She had to find a way to close it fast.
"I sent it away but you needn't worry. Soon it won't matter." Blister came towards her, hand outstretched. "It is time to fulfill your promise. Time to come with me. I have such sights to show you."
"Not a chance!" Clarissa said as she whipped the box out before her.
"No! Don't do that!" Blister shouted, his voice filling the small room.
"Go to hell asshole!" She shouted. Twisting the star shaped section up and giving it a turn, the piece slid back into place with a click.

Suddenly, the light on her wall disappeared. Blister roared in anger at what she had done. Slowly, from his legs upwards, he began to dematerialize in a red mist. He roared and wailed, his face twisted in anger; tongue lashing.
"This is not over! No one escapes me! I will come back! The bargain has yet to be completed. You shall see me again and next time you will pay in pain!"
"Fat chance. Bye bye leather boy!" Clarissa smirked. With a final cry, Blister disappeared into nothingness. A sigh of relief escaped Clarissa's lips. Keeping the box in hand she went downstairs. She checked every room. The kitchen, the living room, the dining room, the bathroom. She went back upstairs and looked in her father's room and Agatha's old empty bedroom. Nothing anywhere. Her father was truly gone. She had done it. She was free. And all it had taken was a little box and the help of a demon.

Clarissa changed into her nightgown and placed the box gingerly on her bedtable. She smiled at it. Climbing under the covers she reached over and turned out the light. At last she was free. She grinned proudly into the shadow of her room. Now all she had to do was keep up a facade like her father was still there and all would be well. She knew where his wallet was and could draw on his bank account. The people at his job might come looking for him but by then she would be gone. She'd empty Randal's ATM account and head off to be with her sister Agatha at college. She was sure she'd take her in. She'd have to. Clarissa would make up some story about Randal going out for cigarettes and never coming home. Anyone would easily believe it. At long last she was free. Truly and completely free. Clarissa closed her eyes and slept more peacefully than she ever had in her entire life

Clarissa awoke to the sound of a voice calling her name. It was a woman's voice with a musical tone in it. Clarissa's eyes blinked slowly open.
"Clarissa! Clarissa! Mr. Simpkins?! Is anyone here? Hello?" Clarissa shot up in bed. It was her counselor Mrs. Dalman. She looked at the clock: 4:30. She had slept the whole day. Clarissa threw the covers off her and rushed down the staircase. Mrs. Dalman, suitcase in hand, came in from the living room. She saw Clarissa descending the stairs in her nightgown.
"Oh there you are! I was very worried. You didn't show up for school today so I decided to come over and check on things. Why are you still in your pajamas?"
"Umm I just woke up. What time is it?" Dalman glanced at her expensive wristwatch.
"It's 4:25. You missed school. What's wrong? Are you sick? And where's your father?"
"I don't know." Clarissa lied. "I guess he never woke me up. I'm a very heavy sleeper."
"Well he's not in the house."
"Last night he went out with his friends, I don't know exactly who, and I guess he never came home. I went to bed at ten as usual." Mrs. Dalman shook her head.
"Well I don't know either." She reached into her purse and pulled out a cell phone. "I'm going to make a few calls. Will you be all right here by yourself?"
"Sure."
"O.K. Good. I'll come back as soon as I can." Dalman opened the door. "Oh, and pack your things."

Thanks to the meddling and over zealous Mrs. Dalman, all hope of Clarissa's freedom was dashed to the winds. Dalman called child services and soon had Clarissa placed in a foster home. The house was to be sold and the money put in a trust fund in Clarissa's name. Agatha had been called and said she would come down as soon as she could. Meanwhile, Clarissa had moved her things into the home of the Skarski's. A family of three children and a very loving couple. Clarissa didn't take much with her. Just her sketch books, her clothes, trinkets and jewelry, her cosmetics and of course the puzzle box. Now Clarissa lay awake in the dark. She still remembered what Blister had said. That he would come back to her. He would find a way. Clarissa's glance shifted from the box to the ceiling. Slowly she felt sleep descend upon her. Her eyes began to close when she heard a noise like wood sliding.

She looked at the box. A section had risen and was rotating and sliding. Clarissa tried to grab it to stop it but she was too late. A blinding blue light flashed across the room. When Clarissa removed her forearm from her eyes she saw the cenobite Mr. Blister standing before her.
"Hello Clarissa." He smiled.
"Oh no."
"Oh yes. Last time your fingers were too fast for me. This time there will be none of that." Blister opened his hand and the box flew into his palm. His bony gray fingers closed around it. "Time to join me."
"No no no! There must be something. Something I can do. Is there?"
"No. No games. No bargains. Time to play!" A chain wound itself around Clarissa's body. She tried to wiggle free but to no avail.
"Wait wait! I'll do anything. Anything you want you can have it. I'll do whatever you say. Just spare me!" Blister cocked his head and a fleck of pus dripped off his bald head.
"Anything you say?" He grinned showing his gray teeth. Clarissa was reminded of Andy Rimmler and his big buck teeth.
"Yes anything." She nodded. "Just let me go."
"I want you to kill them."
"Who?"
"Why this happy little family you live with. Go and kill them all. Slaughter every one of them. Do that and I'll let you go."
"O.K." Clarissa nodded. "It's a deal. But you have to promise to let me go and not bother me again."
"Oh I promise my dear." The chains released Clarissa. "But you have to do it now, tonight, this very instant. And I want to watch." Clarissa nodded. Slowly she walked out of the room and into the kitchen. Taking the biggest butcher knife she could find, she crept into the first bedroom of the house....

The police found her the next day. Her nightgown soaked in blood and clutching the knife, Clarissa sat in her bedroom with a blank look in her eyes. On the bed in front of her was a black cube with brass inlays. The bodies of the Skarski's were found in their beds. They had been stabbed, hacked and mutilated. Their throats cut open, eviscerated, scalped and their skulls split open. Even the youngest, six year old Jennifer, had not been spared. Clarissa had done her job well. Mrs. Dalman testified at her hearing that, owing to her abusive home and troubled mental state, that the court should take mercy on the poor young girl. The judge decided in her favor and sent her away to the Briarwood Asylum. All Clarissa took with her was a single sketchbook, a pencil, and the puzzle box. She would not relinquish it.

Clarissa sat in her cell. He heavy iron door was locked shut. The entire room was stark white. All she had was a single nightstand and the bed. Clarissa sat cross-legged on the uncomfortably starched sheets and drew into her sketchbook. She had talked to no one since her admittance. In fact she had not uttered a single word since the murders. On the nightstand was the box. Silent and still. Clarissa had to face facts. She was stuck here for life. Soon as she turned eighteen she'd be up for review to see if she was competent to stand trial. She had decided she would play it crazy. She didn't want to go to jail and face the death penalty. No, it was better to stay in here. But anything was better than Hell and an eternity as Blister's plaything. Clarissa used her hand as a model and sketched with precision. All she now wore was her green hospital jumpsuit. Her face was clean and her hair down around her shoulders. Around her neck was a single sliver locket which enclosed a picture of her mother.

Slowly the box began to move; the panels shifted. Clarissa didn't notice. She was concentrating on her drawing and humming to herself. She didn't see when the box opened. A light appeared on the far wall and out stepped an old acquaintance. Clarissa looked up and screamed. "NO! How did you get here? I did what you said! I did what you wanted. They're all dead. You saw me do it. You watched."
"Yes and now I have come for you Clarissa. You don't understand. I cannot rest until I take someone back with me. Someone to...play with." He licked his lips at the thought. "It is the only way to seal the Schism. There is no other way." Clarissa dropped her book. "No! You promised!" She pounded on the door. She screamed and cried for help and clawed at the tiny window but no one heard her. The chains flew fast and the hooks pierced her back. She screamed long and loud. "Mommy!" She yelled. Blister roared with laughter and stepped back into the portal. Clarissa was dragged backwards towards the light. Her screams finally died away as she slipped into the portal and it closed behind her. The box calmly reset itself. That was all there was to it.

The echoes of Clarissa's last screams faded into the mixture of insane bellows let out by the inmates of Briarwood. The door opened and in came Agatha followed by an orderly. When they saw no one there the orderly sounded the alarm. They checked all over but never found her. It was considered an escape. Agatha, tears in her eyes, simply picked up the sketchbook and hugged it tight. Then she took the odd looking box from the nightstand, slipped it into her purse and left without a word.